


Gimme Sympathy

by benrumo



Series: Minific Requests [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Black Romance, Dom/sub, F/M, PWP, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:40:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benrumo/pseuds/benrumo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You follow the line of her calf, just barely showing from underneath her skirt, down to the delicate thinness of her ankle and arching curve of her foot. You can’t help but to think that in times long past, she could have been chosen to serve you. You’ve seen the pictures in old history files, the ones only you had access to as the only moirail of the empress-to-be. Elegant, graceful slaves chosen for their genetic oddities, their thin bones and lithe frames just perfect for dancing. But that was then, and this is now. Now she uses her perfectly formed feet for pointing out errors in your work. It is the least she could do. The very least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gimme Sympathy

She taps a slippered foot down just inches from your face. You can see the pale glow of her even through her stockings.

“I believe I said that you were to perform this duty to your utmost, did I not?”

You grit your teeth. Before, you would have shouted out some snappy comeback. Of course, before you would never have been here, on your hands and knees in front of this fuckin’ bitch. Now you aren’t _permitted_ to speak.

“Look at this.”

She points to a spot on the floor behind you with her toe. Her arms are too busy, crossed across her chest in a clear sign of her disapproval, to bother doing something as generous as pointing for you. That would be treating you like you were actually fuckin’ deservin’ a her respect.

“Does this look clean to you?”

You obediently turn to look at the spot she’s indicating. You have learned from experience not to agree without looking. That would be _passive aggressive_.

You follow the line of her calf, just barely showing from underneath her skirt, down to the delicate thinness of her ankle and arching curve of her foot. You can’t help but to think that in times long past, she could have been chosen to serve _you._ You’ve seen the pictures in old history files, the ones only you had access to as the only moirail of the empress-to-be. Elegant, graceful slaves chosen for their genetic oddities, their thin bones and lithe frames just perfect for dancing. But that was then, and this is now. Now she uses her perfectly formed feet for pointing out errors in your work. It is the least she could do. The very least.

“No,” you hiss through gritted teeth. Your fist clenches so tight around the rag in your hand it bleeds filth and water.

“What was that?” she demands, still balanced perfectly on one foot.

You jerk your head up.

“I said no, it ain’t!” you snap, furious. The floor isn’t even _dirty,_ that bitch!

The look on her face is nothing short of pure, icy rage.

“Ma’am,” you add, far too late, as you drop your head back down.

You don’t see her move so much as hear the fabric of her skirt shift. You’d know the sound of spiderlusus silk anywhere. It’s the same material that your old cape used to be made out of. _The exact fuckin’ same material._ The last place it should be is on this fuckin’ _bitch_ of a land dweller.

That’s the last thought you have before her elegant fuckin’ foot collides with your elegant fuckin’ face.

Your horns knock against the floor so hard your whole world flashes white for a moment. You think you lose consciousness. If you do, she doesn’t seem to care.

“Get up,” she orders the moment you open your eyes.

You think you taste blood. You sure as fuck bit your tongue.

“Do you want me to stand, or…”

She doesn’t let you finish.

“Get up,” she orders again, putting an extra emphasis on her already over-enunciated speech. You’d mock her if… if she wasn’t such a fuckin’ bitch about every little thing!

You pull yourself up on your feet. You’re surprised she hasn’t hit you again. You broke her rules. You weren’t supposed to do that. You keep your eyes pointed down at her glowing feet and hope maybe she doesn’t remember.

Frigid fingers grab you by the chin. Her nails bite into your cheeks sharper than knives. You’re not sure you could break free if you wanted to.

“You spoke.”

“I’m sorry,” you reflexively reply. It disgusts you how easily those words pass through your lips now.

Her nails dig even deeper into your skin.

“You will be.”

She puts force into letting you go, as if she were tossing your face aside. When she turns, spinning with all the smooth grace of a sea dweller in water, you raise a hand to your cheek. It comes away bloody.

“Don’t leave that towel on the floor. You will need it later.”

You stoop down and pick up the rag. You wipe the blood off your hands. It’s barely an improvement. You are coated practically from fins to feet in filth. You cannot even look at your fuckin’ knees. You just know they’re going to be bleached thanks to the goddamn “ablution fluid” that bitch dumped across the floor.

“Do not waste my time,” she warns, and you obediently follow.

You don’t have to ask where she’s leading you to, which is good because you don’t have the fuckin’ right to ask.

She orders you to kneel in front of her concupiscent couch. You do. She orders you to take off your glasses, and you do that as well.

“You may relax,” she allows, meaning that you getta watch the next part.

Her fingers, so long and thin they look like needle points without your glasses, reach up to the back of her neck and effortlessly slide down her back. Black gives way to ashen grey as the fabric splits in two. You are mesmerized by the way her hips shift as she slides out of the outfit. Fuckin’ bitch is putting on a show. You think about looking away, just to spite her. Ha, you bet that’d make her face turn a pretty shade of green! You think about it, but you don’t.

She turns and you can see the curve of her breasts, as perfect as the rest of her. She relaxes back on her concupiscent couch, the lines of her body arranged so elegantly you wonder if she practices. You would have to practice to look that goddamn natural. You _do_ practice.

“Did you bring the towel?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.”

Her eyes drop down to look at your feet for once. A look of mild disgust passes over her face, and you know she isn’t lowering her gaze out of respect like she _should_ be.

You don’t have to look to know what it is she sees, but you do anyway. You have to see for yourself how bad it is. God, it is fuckin’ awful. You are practically fuckin’ drippin’ on the floor.

You whine through your nose before you can stop yourself. She killed you, you remind yourself, actually fuckin’ killed you all over this little misunderstandin’ that could have been solved if anyone would have bothered to just fuckin’ listen to you and give you the respect you deserve…

Your train of thought is abruptly interrupted as she beckons you forward. You come, crawling on your knees, until she orders you to stop.

“Tell me what is occurring between Sollux and yourself,” she orders.

“There isn’t anyfin goin’ on,” you snap. You hate when she does this. Fuckin' bitch wants to be in everyone's fuckin' pale quadrant. She’s not your fuckin’ moirail. Nobody is. Not since Feferi…

The grey of her arms blends in with the grey of her stomach blends in with the grey of her legs. It all looks the same without your glasses. She won’t let you close enough to really see her. You are completely blindsided by the hand that grabs a hold of your horn, jerking you forward with deceptive strength and brutality.

“Tell me what you have planned tomorrow,” she orders again, her voice taking on that icy edge that makes your gills fuckin’ flutter.

“Nofin’, I told you!” you say. You can feel your cheeks burning. “I’m just…” It’s hard to breath with the way she’s got your fuckin’ neck twisted. Or maybe it’s just gettin' hard to breathe in general. “I’m just gonna talk to him. God, is that a crime now? What’d I ever do to deserve this?”

Her hand goes from willow wood to steel against your horn. She moves slowly, as if there’s a thousand pounds of weight behind each movement and she could crush you like a bug. The closer she gets, the more her face twists, the more her fangs show, the more the luminescence behind her skin flickers brighter. Something primal in you kicks into gear in response. Every cell in your body is screamin’ at you to run and to stand as still as possible. It’s tearin’ you apart. She’s tearin’ you to pieces.

_“Everything.”_

Her other hand scratches jagged lines down your face, over the bite marks from her nails and over the bruise from her foot. It hurts bad enough to bring tears to your eyes. You fight, but you can’t keep them in any more than you can keep the airy moan from slipping past your tight throat.

You catch glittering purple, your royal blood, on the tips of her fingers as she wraps her other hand around your horn. You are helpless. You can’t move. You can’t even make yourself want to move. You just watch, tears stinging as they fall down your face, as she moves closer and closer. Her black lips part and her tongue scrapes across your wounds, rough and jagged as coral.

You don’t breathe until she orders you. You don’t move until she moves, settling back on the couch and pulling your head down into her lap.

You could do it. You could bite her fuckin’ bulge off right now. But you won’t. You don’t fuckin’ dare, not with her. Not now.

All you do is what she tells you to. She orders you to mind your teeth, and you do. She orders you to put your hands on your horns, and you do. She orders you move faster, and you obey without question, no matter how much it hurts. Her skin blinds you. You want more of it, but you only dare take what she gives.

That bitch, you think, that utter fuckin’ bitch. The only thing worse than the way she treats you, you think, is how fuckin’ good her blush looks against your blood on her lips.


End file.
